Crows Flew Out of Their Mouths or glossolalia
just another white guy waiting...
two black crows flew out of his mouth,
took wing from room to room,
fourteen words fell out;
someone dropped a noose
in the Smithsonian yesterday,
an artifact
of two noose tension today.
this news cycle, in case you missed it,
is like a minority report
rising from its daily stranglehold
on a world too crowded.
the whole crowded world crows
and crows from the tallest tree,
the ones with the best bird's eye view
the perspective in the land of the free.
press, press together incites
while they still exist in shock,
take cover! print and digital
newspapers stand in June gloom,
deliver all these stories and more...
shot (chocked) full of commuters,
i step onto the L train
in the middle of an argument.
is it always two sides or more? a meet b
in a rude bump and flip
a move on and one slight hit. the blonde (blond)
well-heeled couple wipes shit off their shoe
from the mocha-skinned street dance group.
chest pumping threats...
two sides, both on sly retreat
reluctant to come to blows,
white woman screams, “read some books,
get a lexicon, you’ll end up in jail honey!”
mocking slap, “bitch you dance for money!”
a hairy man puts his arm out,
gestures slit throat.
that’s from last week’s news cycle,
people of Portland’s problem.
the beauty of the white woman
must not perish from this earth!
we must secure the existence of our people
and a future for white children,
said the alt-right bulling the muslim.
no shots fired intervening autistic poet,
will recover!
nothing happened here move along...
the dancers exit at the next stop,
i caught their backdraft spat
and bump as others pushed in.
the rush, the push back
with averted eyes and no validation
covered in saliva,
i exit to catch my next train,
throw some change at a cellist,
ashkenazic or sephardic.
she graciously steps into category,
“hell Jesus was a jew,
and no i’m not white or colored!”
playing in her own world a real jewel...
that’s freedom, i think.
of course this train is packed, too.
rush hour city to city
which city it doesn’t matter.
cars, metros, trains, get off this plane,
just another white guy waiting in line.
“you know tribalism is hardwired.”
what is this modern version of original sin,
privilege of whiteness,
when privilege comes in many forms?
i disappear (ghost) into this lost
stupor, what city am i in now?
remember...
i think back to last season (winter)
off a windy lake ordering for Griselda,
catching attitude from the asian barista.
“yes, that's my coffee name!”
hot, cold Chicago heading to a game,
a cubby fan attacked back flap sox cap
split (left) eye,
out of Africa ain't so joe
and the dark continent was enslaved
by lighter Egyptians, some street art scene.
tut tut two white crows flew out of his mouth,
i am used to that
in case you missed it Monday,
just another metro story.
storming in, a woman her packages
and purse in the third seat
leave an old latina (puerto rican) lady standing.
disgusted, others uncomfortable
avert their eyes, dry as leaves,
crisp the ones on broken branches.
they shake their heads with attitude
and all their paraphernalia
spills my coffee.
burnt tongues crowded,
every cavernous mouth speaks glossolalia,
crows flew out of their mouths...
terminal shattering
vile drops from treetops tear
and rain drop. bird drop, dew
drop upon my umbrella protection.
from my mouth flew a murder of crow,
every path puddle footprint trace
seeks a higher perspective, in flow;
cities are crowded
but it’s not always about space.
